


A Demon, An Angel, And A God-King Meet In The Afterlife

by ilovehowyouletmefall



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Drunkenness, Fighting, Friendship, Gen, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:54:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovehowyouletmefall/pseuds/ilovehowyouletmefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has come for Anya, Castiel and Illyria. Three creatures who have fought on the side of good, but have also done much evil. Now they wait for their final judgement, with only each other for companionship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel, Anya and Illyria are all dead. Set post-series BtVS, mid season-7 SPN, and I know that Illyria is still alive and kicking in canon, but she's dead in this story. So the timelines don't match up, but they don't have to, because the characters have been pulled out of time to stand trial. 
> 
> Also, for the purposes of this story, the mythologies of Supernatural and the Buffyverse are reconciled only to the extent that they absolutely need to be, and might not entirely add up. If you think there's a hole or inconsistency in the mythology, I probably realize it's there. But I didn't want to focus on the mythology too much, because really, this is just about the characters. I also realize that the way Heaven is represented doesn't exactly fit with canon either.

Adrenaline coursed through Anya’s body as she cut down the oncoming Bringers, one after the other, imagining each one of them with a pink twitchy nose and long floppy ears. She was  kicking evil bunny ass, she could keep going all day- 

Anya felt the familiar pain of a blade slicing through her body. 

 _Oh crap. I bet that’s fatal_ , and she blacked out. 

Anya woke up on the floor of the Magic Box. Which couldn’t have been right. The Magic Box was destroyed. Also, it didn’t have faded orange and brown wallpaper  that looked like it belonged in cheap motel. Or, for that matter, massive stone pillars that rose to a vaulted ceiling so high it was almost out of sight.

Anya got to her feet and turned around slowly, taking in her surroundings. There were shelves filled with herbs and amulets that she remembered stocking herself a long time ago. Arcane, leather-bound books were spread out on the table as if her friends had just been there, researching the latest monster of the week. And over there (her heart almost skipped a beat when she saw it) on the counter was the cash register. It definitely felt like the Magic Box, but at the same time it definitely wasn’t. It was the Magic Box mashed up with a motel and an ancient temple. 

"This is weird," she said to no one in particular. 

Only there was someone else. Anya noticed an arm poking out from behind the counter. She rushed over, and found an unfamiliar man sprawled on the floor. 

She knelt besides him. He was in his mid-thirties, with reddish brown hair, wearing a rumpled suit and trench coat.

Anya looked at him askance, “You’re not dead, are you?” She leaned closer to his face, trying to see if he was breathing. His eyes snapped open suddenly and Anya jumped back.

They were the bluest eyes that Anya had ever seen. When they fixed on Anya the man’s gaze sharpened with recognition, and he quickly sat up and scuttled away from  her. 

"You’re a demon," he said, his voice a deep, accusing growl. 

"What? No, I -" Anya started, before she realized that he was right. She felt the glow of power in her core, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed earlier. She supposed the dying and waking up in a place that she was pretty sure never existed had distracted her.  “Oh… that’s disturbing.” She looked at the man. “But I’m human. I chose to be human. How did I become a  demon again?" 

Anya didn’t really expect the man to have an answer for her, but she was still annoyed when he said nothing, and only glared at her distrustfully. 

The silence was starting to feel hostile when Anya heard the sound of footsteps on the stone floor.  Both she and the strange man rose to their feet. 

Okay,  _these_  were the bluest eyes Anya had ever seen. They were framed in the pale face of a slight woman with blue hair, wearing what looked like skin-tight leather  armour, the kind that the women in Andrew’s computer games would wear. 

Anya glanced towards the man. His gaze was flitting around room, as though he was looking at something much bigger than the blue lady standing before them. 

Anya sighed, exasperated by yet another unexplained development. “Okay, does anyone know what’s going on here?" 

Instead of answering Anya’s question, the man launched himself over the counter at blue lady, grabbing her by the throat and pressing a palm against her forhead. Anya  supposed that this was supposed to accomplish something because the man looked surprised and frightened when nothing happened. The blue lady, on the other hand, smirked  and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt, lifting him off the ground with one hand. She flung him back towards the counter with enough force to knock the cash register  off its mount, so that it smashed to the ground underneath the man’s back. 

Anya winced, even though she knew it wasn’t really her cash register. 

"I think I can answer that."

Anya spun around to see a pale man with sunken cheeks and black slicked-back hair, wearing a black over-coat. He met her gaze. “Anyanka." He turned to the blue lady.  "Illyria." Anya heard a moan behind her and the grating of broken machinery against the floor as the first man got to his feet. The newcomer gave him a nod.  "Castiel." 

"Death," Castiel returned. 

Anya gawked. She  _was_  dead. And Death was an actual guy, who was standing in front of her. 

"You’ve come for me," Castiel said, and Anya could have sworn he sounded embarassed.  

"No, I’ve already come for you," Death replied, a snarky bite to his tone. “All of you, in fact. Now the Powers That Be need to decide what to do with you lot." 

"No," Illyria spoke for the first time. Her voice was regal and otherworldly. “I am Illyria, God-King of the primordium -"

"Yes, I know," Death interrupted, wholly unimpressed.

”- I cannot be felled by some glorified Reaper." 

Death’s expression was cold and impassive as he let Illyria seethe in uncomfortable silence before replying, “And yet, here we are." 

Something about Death’s explanation struck Anya as ominous. 

"What do you mean, ‘decide what to do with us?’"

A smile briefly flashed across Death’s face as he turned towards Anya.  _Creepy_. “Well, you are all essentially mass-murders who have also, on occasion, helped to save  the world. None of you are entirely human, nor are you entirely not-human either."

Castiel looked like he was about to question that assertion, but Illyria spoke first. “I am a God-King-" 

"Whose being is fused with the soul of a human," Death cut her off, and continued. “So now that you’re dead, the question is: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory? Oblivion? Or  something else? The Powers That Be decided it would be most efficient to take your cases out of time and place and hear them together." 

"How dare they!" Illyria fumed, “How dare they presume to sit in judgment over me! I, who have walked through worlds, who have commanded civilizations-"

"Right, well, we’ll start with you, then," Death strode over to Illyria and touched her on the shoulder. The two of them disappeared, leaving Anya alone with Castiel.


	2. Chapter 2

The massive pillars and paving stones disappeared, and a dingy little bed, rickety nightstand and an old TV set materialized in  the middle of the shop. Castiel guessed that the holding cell conformed to the setting that its occupants were most comfortable  in, and it almost made him laugh that after all his millennia of existence outside the human plane he was most comfortable in a place that reeked of humanity. Although,  according to Death, Castiel was now not “entirely not-human," whatever that had meant. It was a question he’d have to save for the Horseman’s return.

The demon named Anyanka was taking deep breaths, her eyes closed, pulling her arms up to her chest as she inhaled, swinging them away from her body as she exhaled. “It’s okay," she seemed to be talking to herself. “This isn’t scary at all. Being dead isn’t that bad. Everything’s okay." She took another deep breath and opened her eyes, and saw Castiel watching her curiously.

"What’s your deal?" Anyanka asked, a bit too demanding to be conversational. 

"What do you mean?" Castiel said, regarding her warily. Anyanka seemed harmless enough, but she was still a monster. 

"You know I’m a demon. Illyria’s a god or a king or whatever. What are you?" 

"I’m an angel," Castiel answered, after a second adding, “of the Lord." He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge.

"Oh." Anya nodded, seemingly impressed. Then her brow furrowed. “So I’m stuck with a killer angel whose happy place is an ugly motel room with-" she approached the  bed, examining the coin-operated mechanism attached to it. "- ‘Magic Fingers.’ Is that a masturbation aid?" 

Castiel glared at Anyanka. He decided he didn’t like her.

"And I’m stuck with a demon," he answered coldly. 

"Hey, I died saving the world, dickface." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I’m a demon with a shot at heaven. But you’re an angel on the steps of hell. I think that’s  everything we need to know about each other."

Castiel didn’t see the self-satisfied grin on Anyanka’s face as she turned away from him, nor the way she mouthed “Burn!" to herself as she walked to the back of the  shop.

She was right, of course. Castiel had no business looking down on her. He had killed scores of people over the past months, and would be responsible for the deaths of  hundreds more, assuming that the Leviathan had escaped - which was the only explanation for how he ended up dead. So really he was no better than a demon in that  respect.

Castiel couldn’t remember ever hating himself so much.  

 

* * *

 

Illyria had never felt so trapped, and since she had spent her entire life after resurrection feeling trapped, that was saying something. The courtroom was grand, all  glossy marble and gilt, befitting the trial of one such as her. But the walls were made of more than marble, and they penned Illyria in. But what made Illyria feel  caged most of all were the three beings who sat before her. The tribunal. 

In the centre was one of the new gods, in a human form he fashioned for his own use, one that looked weak and unassuming. To his right was the Mother, stuck in a human  shell, like Illyria was. Though not as old as Illyria, she was the eldest of the three, and had given birth to many a race of creatures. Illyria could respect her. And  to the god’s left-

"A measly demon," she sneered. “No more than the grime under my nails. Why do you sit with my judges?"

"I am one of your judges, darling," he answered smugly. “You’ve got the God of Heaven," he pointed to the new god, “Mother of Purgatory," he gestured towards the  Mother, “and me. King of Hell."

"A usurper." The demon’s eyes narrowed. Illyria continued, “Devious and cunning, no real power about you at all. The other two are babes as gods, but they are at least  creators, they can shape worlds to their will. You scramble to control your realm. I would crush you under my heel by accident; you aren’t worth the effort of  deliberate movement."

The demon did his best to remain composed, but Illyria saw the cracks - his blinking too rapid, the line of his mouth too hard. She recognized the look in his eye - he  was threatened, knowing a real leader when he saw one. Illyria smiled. 

"Right…" the demon said, keeping his tone light and easy. He turned and hunched towards the god, saying in an agitated whisper, “Look, I don’t care what you two  decide to do with her, just keep the bitch the hell away from Hell!"

"Yeah, I-I get that." The god didn’t take his eyes off older god before him. He leaned forward. “Illyria, I was hoping you could tell us how you feel about your time living among humans."

Illyria cocked her head, thinking the question strange. Then she remembered. “Yes, the humans are your pets, aren’t they?" She stepped closer to the bench. “You must  be a cruel god. Your children’s lives are petty and meaningless, filled with sorrow and longing. A benificent god would wipe them off the planet." 

The god sighed and forced a tight smile across his face. “Alrighty then." He fixed Illyria with his gaze, and she was surprised that she found it unsettling. “Winifred  Burkle," he said, “we’d like to speak to you now." 

"You cannot speak to her," Illyria protested, a bit too much, “I burned her out of this shell."

The god ignored her. “Come on Winifred, don’t be shy."

Illyria felt herself fading into blackness.   

 

* * *

 

Anya sat on the floor at the back of the Magic Box, reading one of Giles’ books. Naturally, it was boring. But she had to do something to keep her mind of the fact that she didn’t know whether her friends had made it out of Sunnydale alive, and that, oh yeah, she was dead. 

Anya was considering making nice with Castiel just to have someone to talk to, when a  shadow fell over the page.  _Speak of the angel_ , she thought. 

"I’d like to apologize for my behaviour," he said, abashed. 

Anya closed the book and looked up at him expectantly. 

"I’m sorry for snapping at you and using your demonic nature as an insult." 

Anya nodded. “As you should be." 

Castiel continued to stand there, awkwardly. Anya sighed and gave him a conciliatory smile. “Pull up some floor."

Castiel furrowed his brow and cocked his head as if he didn’t know what she meant. Anya patted the ground next to her, and Castiel nodded in understanding. He sat down  next to her, his posture stiff and formal. 

"So, angel, eh? What’s that like?" 

 

* * *

 

Anyanka was curious. This, Castiel could understand. The persistence of her questions, however, he had less sympathy for. 

He had barely finished attempting to explain how time works in heaven, when she asked, “Do angels watch people have sex?"

It was a strange question, but he answered honestly, “Not deliberately." 

"So you do watch."

"If we’re assigned to watch over an individual, or over human events, then we watch them." 

"Do you watch people when they’re pooping?"

Castiel sighed, wondering how many times he would have to repeat himself. “If that’s what we’re assigned to do-"

"Do you get off on it?"

Castiel gaped at the demon woman’s nerve. “Angels do not ‘get off’."

Anyanka raised her eyebrows. “You don’t have sex at all?" 

Castiel looked away from her inquisitive stare. The conversation was getting into uncomfortably familiar territory. “Not typically."

"So you can, but you don’t."

"Anyanka-"

"Call me Anya."

"Anya…" 

Castiel was close to walking away and doing his best to ignore her. But then he’d be alone with his guilt and his memories, with nothing to do but anticipate having to answer for his crimes. Anya’s company was at least preferable to that.  

"Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?"

Anya beamed. “Thanks for asking!" 

 

* * *

 

"Winifred, do you know what’s happening?" the man who reminded Fred of a lost puppy asked.

It was mostly a blur, but Fred remembered… pain and blackness. 

"Illyria - took me. And…" Fred dug around in her consciousness, felt Illyria still there, and found snatches of memory, of fighting and coming apart at the seams.  "… and now she’s dead. I’m dead." She looked searchingly at the three people in front of her. “So where am I?"

"Well, Winifred-"

"Fred. Please."

The puppy-like man smiled kindly. “Fred. You can call me Chuck. I’m God."

"Wha…?" Fred’s face went blank with shock. 

Chuck gestured to a stout man with thinning hair on his left. “This is Crowley, he’s… well, basically the devil."

"King of Hell, thank you," Crowley corrected affibly. 

Chuck rolled his eyes and pointed to a dark-haired girl on his right. “And this is Eve."

“ _The_  Eve?" Fred asked.

"Not the one you’re thinking of sweetie. I’m the mother of what you call monsters."

"Oh."

"Take a second," Chuck offered.

"Thanks." Fred smiled weakly and took a calming breath. 

After a moment, Chuck started to explain, “Now that Illyria’s dead, we need to figure out what to do with her. Your soul is fused to her," he spoke slowly and  carefully, “So she can’t go back to The Well. She’s too powerful for Hell, and, she’d probably wreak havoc in Heaven."

"I could take her," Eve cut in.

"Are you out of your bleeding mind!?" Crowley practically roared.

"I think we’d get along," Eve responded calmly. “Besides, I thought you said you don’t care what we do with her?"

"I’ll care when she breaks out of Purgatory with an army of monsters behind her, and starts swarming over the rest of us!"

"Yeah…" Chuck licked his lips thoughtfully. “I… I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Eve."

"Thank you," Crowley huffed. “Two against one, love," he added, with a glare at Eve, whose only reply was to cross her arms and purse her lips. 

"Which means," Chuck went on, “that the remaining options are destroying both of you entirely-"

"Exactly, only reasonable conclusion- wait  _options_? As in plural?"

“ _Or_ ," Chuck did his best to ignore Crowley’s interruption, “I was thinking we could give you a measure of control over Illyria. Make it so you could hold her down.  Then, maybe at the end of your natural life, she’d be more aclimatized to humans, and maybe-"

"And maybe, what? Be ready for heaven?"

"Yeah, Crowley, exactly," Chuck snapped, losing patience with his colleague. 

"Oh my god…" Crowley muttered. “Not you, obviously," he added, with a sideways glance at Chuck.

Chuck turned his attention back to Fred. “I wanted to know how you felt about that."

Fred nodded. It was several minutes until she spoke. “How much control?"

"Some." There was a forced brightness to Chuck’s tone. Crowley rolled his eyes. “We’ve never done this before," Chuck admitted, “so I can’t say exactly, but I think,  enough for you to live more or less normally."

Fred grimaced. It didn’t seem like much of a plan. “I don’t like the sound of that, Chuck."

"Great!" Crowley exclaimed. “Good, there is one other sane person in this courtroom."

Chuck looked so let down, that Fred continued to explain, “What if I’m not strong enough? And what if she gets angry at being trapped? I don’t want anyone else hurt  because of her. And I really don’t want anyone hurt because of me." 

Chuck gave a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry there’s no other way. You belong in heaven, Fred."


	3. Chapter 3

Anya decided that she liked Castiel, despite getting off on the wrong foot with him. He was an attentive listener, watching her closely and not interrupting. Okay, so it was a little unnerving, but it was also gratifying.

She told him about growing up in Sjornjost, how D’Hoffryn came to her and made her a demon. She recounted some of her better vengeance sprees. When she got to the part when Giles broke her amulet, Castiel cut in.

"I thought you said you chose to be human?"

"Hush, I’m getting there."

Anya told Castiel about the trials of high school, about Xander, and about making friends with Buffy and Giles and Willow and Tara. When she told him about sex, Castiel didn’t try to hush her or change the subject, and Anya appreciated that. She told him about fighting monsters, fighting friends, becoming a demon again.

"After all that, you went back to the dark side?" Castiel’s tone wasn’t accusing, it seemed like he just genuinely wanted to understand.

Anya wondered if angels watched Star Wars in heaven. “Well, that’s just it. Xander hurt me, and I wanted to make him hurt too. But I couldn’t do the job anymore. Taking vengeance… instead of helping me hurt less, it just made things worse."

"So you decided to become human."

"Actually, I decided to die to undo one of my wishes, but…" The image of Halfrek engulfed in flames flashed before Anya’s eyes. “I ended up human instead." She sighed. “Never go for the kill when you can go for the pain."

"Being human is painful," Castiel said, as if he knew.

"Yup."

"It’s also brave."

Anya considered that. She thought about the humans she knew, the fighters. “They are."

"I was referring to you," Castiel said, matter-of-factly. “Giving up your power, admitting you were wrong, choosing to be vulnerable… that was brave of you."

Okay, Anya was definitely getting to like this guy. “Thanks Castiel."

"You can call me Cas," he said, very seriously.

Anya smiled at the thought of an angel having a nick-name. “Cas."

Silence fell between them. Anya thought of finishing her story, but every time she opened her mouth all she could think about was that she didn’t  _really_  know how it ended. She didn’t know if her friends were alive, if they had won, if her death had meant anything at all.

Castiel was the one who finally broke the silence.

"The motel room, my, um, ‘happy place,’ it reminds me of my friends."

"Oh," Anya said. “Are your friends reasonably-priced prostitutes?"

Before Cas could answer, Anya blinked and the motel furnishings were gone, replaced by the towering stone pillars. Illyria sat on the ground, leaning against one of them, her knees hugged to her chest. She wasn’t blue anymore.

Death stood before Cas and Anya.

"What happened to her?" Anya asked as she climbed to her feet, Cas standing next to her.

Death shrugged. “We’ll find out when the Powers are finished deliberating." He turned to Castiel. “You’re next."

Death disappeared with Cas, and the grungy wallpaper vanished. In the centre of the room, a statue of a tentacled, many-eyed monster rose into the sky.

 

* * *

 

Castiel found himself in what looked like the courtroom of The Hague - wood panelling, tall stained glass windows, chandeliers, and a long bench for the judges. He felt that he was ready to face these Powers That Be that Death kept referring to. He had tried his best, made his choices, and he would stand by them. He was not afraid.

One of the judges entered the room, walked across the floor and sat down in front of him. It was Eve. But it couldn’t be, she was dead. Dean had killed her.

She seemed to know what he was thinking. “Didn’t kill me, Castiel. Just sent me home."

While she was talking, another figure approached the bench and sat down.

"Crowley," Castiel growled.

"Well, if it isn’t my old partner," Crowley said in mock surprise. “Guess double-crossing me didn’t turn out too well for you."

Castiel’s humiliation and anger affected his vessel - he could feel blood rushing to his face, could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"No. You  _cannot_  be here.  _You_  cannot judge me."

"Believe me, I don’t  _want_  to be here, revelling in your downfall." Crowley’s words oozed with insincerity. “It’s just one of the regrettable duties that comes with ruling Hell."

Castiel was severely shaken. Not only were his worst enemies there to gloat over his fall from grace, but they would be the ones deciding his fate in the afterlife.

He noticed that there was still an empty chair between Eve and Crowley. Castiel’s indignation melted away, and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when he realized, with dread and mortification, that there was only one who could fill it.

Then, Chuck was there. Chuck. Which meant…

"You," Castiel breathed, his voice catching in his throat. “You were there all along."

"Yeah," his Father replied, voice flat, disappointment plain on his face. “Hi Cas."

 

* * *

 

Illyria had known that she was in a weakened state, compared to what she once was. But she had never suspected that she was  _this_  weak. Weak enough to allow another soul to share her body. A human soul. And now that Fred had been awakened, Illyria was having trouble putting her back to sleep.

The worst of it wasn’t the struggle, though, Illyria was winning that. It was that she could feel everything the human was feeling. The loss, the regret - lowly, ungodly things to feel. And the grief. Illyria was no stranger to grief; the air was thick with it when she was with Wesley and his friends. She felt it herself when Wesley was slain. That was the problem. Having these feelings inside of her, Illyria found it difficult to separate them from her own.

As she pushed Fred back into her subconscious, Illyria could not supress the fear that she was becoming human.

Illyria gazed upon the giant statue, her own likeness, the tribute to what she once was, and began to weep.

 

* * *

 

Illyria was crying. And, okay, Anya didn’t know her at all, but she could guess that someone who calls herself “the God-King of the Primordium" and who could throw a man twice her size across the room with one hand doesn’t cry that often. The Powers That Be, however,  _they_  could make her cry.

Anya was dead, and separated from he friends, and everything else she liked about life, except for this Magic-Box-that-wasn’t-really- _her_ -Magic-Box. But it was okay, it was okay, she was not going break down,  _it was okay_ , because Anya was still here, still  _somewhere_ , and probably headed for somewhere better.

She had convinced herself that this whole exercise was about punishing the angel for his uncharacteristic wrong-doings, and rewarding the monsters for their uncharacteristic do-gooding. And she had been pretty confident when she filed Illyria under “monster do-gooder."

Seeing Illyria like this, Anya wasn’t so sure anymore. She  _had_  to be sure.

Anya steeled herself, and walked up to the crouched, deceptively frail-looking figure.

"Hi," Anya ventured. Illyria didn’t seem to notice, so Anya placed a hand gently on her shoulder. Illyria’s head snapped up, eyes once again a shocking blue. Anya pulled her hand back as though scalded.

"You dare to lay hands on me?" Illyria accused.

"No!" Anya said hurridly. “No, I was just, um, wondering if… you were… okay?" Anya finished with a weak smile.

"I am decomposing," Illyria answered without hesitation, “becoming human."

"Oh." Anya knew that feeling. Except something about this didn’t make sense. “But you’re already dead."

"You wish to remind me further of my weakness?"

"No! It’s just - if you’re already dead, then how could you be turning into something that you weren’t when you were alive?"

Illyria pondered this. “Then I’ve been so damaged from the beginning." She seemed to get lost in thought, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore. After a moment she rose to her feet and nodded at Anya. “What you say is sensible. It reassures me. Thank you."

Anya let out the breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.

 

* * *

 

"I searched for you, and you were there all along!" Castiel stormed at God, the shame of his situation forgotten.

God was unmoved by his anger, simply acknowledging. “Yeah, I was."

"I begged for your help!"

"What did you want from me?"

"Some direction, a sign, the smallest indication-"

"I resurected you, Cas," God interrupted, incredulous. “I gave you soldiers who would follow you to their death. I gave you friends you could rely on." A short, cynical laugh escaped his lips, “I gave you the arsenal of Heaven." The volume of his voice rose as he became more adamant. “You had everything you needed, Castiel. What more did you expect me to give you?"

The silence that followed rang in Castiel’s ears. His Father was right.

God softened. “I gave you the chance to re-make Heaven."

Cas lowered his gaze, unable to look his father in the eye. “And all I did was disappoint you," he murmured.

"Look, I hate to interrupt this  _touching_  family reunion -"

"Shut up, Crowley!" God barked.

Eve interjected, “We do have business to attend to, here."

God nodded, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes trained on the bench in front of him.

Eve regarded Castiel cooly. “What to do with your everlasting… well, what passes for a soul."

Castiel was about to scoff at Eve, and tell her that angels don’t have souls. But the Mother of All wasn’t ignorant. He was missing something.

He hated admitting it in front of Eve and Crowley, so he focused on God, even though he was refusing to look at Castiel. “I don’t understand. I don’t have-"

Crowley gasped as though he had been handed a neatly wrapped present.

"Oh… he doesn’t know."

 

* * *

 

Illyria realized now that she had been irrational. It was unlike her, but preferable to melting into humanity.

Illyria got to her feet, and started inspecting the walls. “What is this place?" she asked.

"The Magic Box," the demon named Anyanka answered. “It’s the shop that I owned when I was - hey!"

Illyria had just punched a hole in the wall.

"This is no simple shop," she concluded, when the wall stitched itself back together before their eyes.

"Oh, you meant literally?" Anyanka continued talking. “I don’t know, somewhere meta-"

Illyria strode over to one of the pillars and slammed her shoulder against it, making the structure tremble.

"-physical.  _What_  are you doing?" The demon sounded distressed.

"Escaping," Illyria answered. She ran her hands over the pillar, checking for cracks.

"Escaping? You can do that?"

"If there’s a way, I will find it." Illyria reared back to slam herself against the pillar again.

"There is no way." Illyria recognized Death’s icy drawl, and spun around to see him standing calmly, his hands clasped in front of him. “So you can save yourself the effort and stop now."

Illyria stalked towards the Reaper. He didn’t flinch when she grabbed him by the throat.

"The small gods and the demon intend to cast me into the void, scatter my atoms across the universe, and burn my consciousness out of existence," Illyria snarled.

"They’ve come to no decisions yet." Death said smoothly.

Illyria tightened her grasp, but Death remained infuriatingly calm.

"You know as well as I what they plan."

Death shrugged.

Illyria felt his vertebrae crumbling under her fingers, and still he remained unmoved. “You will release me, or I will break you."

When Death spoke, it was as if he was addressing an impatient child. “Sit tight, and wait."

He vanished, right out of Illyria’s hands.

 

* * *

 

Anya was starting to freak out, and not only because a god-king was pacing around like a caged tiger.

Illyria took a swing at the mammoth statue that was apparently part of her happy place. Cracks spidered out from where her fist connected, then faded. Illyria swung her fist again.

"I kinda think we can trust Death on the ‘no escape’ situation," Anya mentioned.

"This is destruction for destruction’s sake," Illyria said, “but I am robbed of even that small pleasure." She watched the cracks disappear again.

Anya desperately wanted to question Illyria, but was wary of those fists. Even if she couldn’t be killed again, Anya was still pretty sure they would hurt. But, Illyria had been forthcoming so far. So Anya decided to go for it.

"Why did they decide to destroy you?" Illyria turned to Anya with a piercing blue gaze, and if Castiel’s was unnerving, this was a hundred times worse. Anya started to ramble nervously, “We’re here because we did something right, right? Except Cas, he did something wrong, there’s things he doesn’t want to talk about, and he might as well have a neon sign over his head blinking ‘GUILT!’ But you and me, we were monsters, but we did good, so we’re here. I thought we would be, you know… forgiven."

"You’re afraid," Illyria observed.

 _No duh_. “Yeah. I am."

Illyria turned back to her statue, but instead of making another attempt to smash it to bits, she started walking around it, running her fingers gently over its contours.

"Perhaps if I had sought forgiveness they would have found me less threatening."

Anya breathed a sigh of relief. The Powers That Be didn’t want Illyria around because she was scary. Anya could actually see their point. “So, don’t be threatening. I can do that."

Illyria stepped out from behind the statue. “You want to know what to expect from the tribunal?"

Anya nodded, hoping it was an offer and not just an observation.

"Know thine enemy," Illyria said with an approving nod. “The new god wanted to know how I felt about humans. Speaking well of humanity would ingratiate you with him."

"Oh, that’s easy," Anya laughed with relief. “I became human, I’m on their side."

"That is of no consequence," Illyria commented, sitting cross-legged on the ground against the statue.

"What?" Becoming human and fighting with them were among the defining moments of Anya’s life. They were definitely  _of_  consequence.

"You gave yourself willingly to the demon. It is an inseparable part of you. That is why you are not human here. As you rightly observed, we are nothing in death that we are not in life. And you are a demon."

 

* * *

 

"Should you tell him, or should I?" Crowley asked Eve.

"You tell him. I’m just going to watch."

"You fell in love with a human," Crowley said in a sing-song voice.

Castiel stared in surprise. He loved God’s creation, loved his friends, and perhaps one was more special to him than the others. But he was familiar with the concept of being “in love". He never thought it could apply to him.

"That’s irrelevant, and you know it," God muttered, apparently to the bench.

"Is that so?" Crowley questioned with a smug grin. “Is it something that normally happens to angels, then? Are there a lot of them flapping around with great cracks through their grace from pining for some hunter’s pretty green eyes?"

Castiel knew he was blushing, and he hated it. He shouldn’t be ashamed, but that was exactly how Crowley was making him feel.

God sighed and grit his teeth. “Love doesn’t-"

"Uh-oh, here comes the speech about The Power Of Love!" Crowley said, feigning intimidation.

"In any case, your grace was weakened," Eve, impatient with her colleagues, took over explaining. “So when you stole the souls of my children," her tone was icy, with a note of condemnation, “their weight was too much. Your grace was mutilated. It wasn’t crushed into an actual soul, but it’s a lot like one."

Castiel closed his eyes, absorbing this information. He had thought the fallout from his actions couldn’t get any worse. But this was fitting. He had killed Rachel and Balthazar and countless other brothers and sisters, he had broken Sam’s mind, slaughtered humans, and ultimately let monsters loose on the world he had intended to save. It was only right that some of the damage should be felt by him, personally.

"And now I’m here," he whispered.

"And now," Crowley said, kicking back in his chair and putting his feet up on the bench, a wicked smirk spreading across his face, “you come to me."

 

* * *

 

Illyria cast her gaze around the holding cell, imagining the spaces between the columns filled with her army, thousands upon thousands of loyal and adoring soldiers, eager to give their lives to her in battle.

In reality the only other being there was the vengeance demon, sitting on some stairs that belonged to her shop, her eyes flitting towards Illyria every so often, wary and curious.

She pulled Illyria out of her reverie with a question. “You’re not scared?"

Anyanka was a lowly creature, but she had seen reality clearly when Illyria had not, so Illyria decided it was no disgrace to humour her with an answer.

"A true ruler does not succumb to fear."

"So you’re scared but you don’t let it get to you."

Illyria was vexed that she had admitted fear without realizing it. “You get to the heart of matters, Anyanka. Initially I appreciated it. Now it irritates me."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

Illyria sensed that Anyanka was slowly becoming less intimidated by her presence. It should have bothered her more than it did. But Illyria knew it didn’t matter anymore, because soon, nothing would matter.

"Regret is beneath me as well, and yet I cannot help but regret that I have come to such an end."

Merciful silence stretched between them, and Illyria let herself sink back into her own thoughts, until Anyanka’s voice sounded softly.

"How did you die?"

Illyria thought back to her last weary hours, every fight that proceeded them, the loss of Wesley wearing her down, taking something intangible from her. She thought back to when her powers were diminished, how her shell had been too weak to contain her. She thought back to finding her kingdom turned to dust.

"Slowly."

 

* * *

 

Anya’s thoughts kept returning to the revelations that The Powers That Be were not as benevolent as she hoped, and that after everything she sacrificed - her powers and her life - to the universe, Anya Jenkins was still the demon Anyanka.

Anya needed distraction. The fact that Illyria was the most depressing creature that Anya had ever encountered wasn’t helping. Anya supposed that this was partly her fault, since her attempts at conversation hadn’t been the most up-beat. Well, that was about to change.

"This place, with the pillars and the statue, it makes you happy?" Anya asked, injecting some brightness into her voice.

"It reminds me of my home, my kingdom," Illyria answered in a tone that could almost be described as wistful. “This sculpture is a miniature of my true form."

"Miniature?" Anya craned her neck, trying to see the top of the statue. “Really?"

"In those days, the stars sung my praises and the planets danced for my pleasure."

"Huh." Anya noticed that Illyria hadn’t actually answered the question. “So it makes you happy?"

Illyria gazed at the ceiling as though it wasn’t there. “More than anything could."

In spite of her answer, Illyria’s demeanor really didn’t fit any definition of “happy" that Anya was familiar with. Anya sighed. It looked like she was just going to be stuck with an emo god-king.

 

* * *

 

"And don’t think it’ll be eternal queuing for you."

Crowley was speaking, but his voice barely registered with Castiel as he stared grimly ahead. His trial had been non-stop mortification, but this, this was the worst. The prospect of being handed to an enemy that he had once lorded over, who he had gotten the better of. Who he knew would inflict such suffering on him as to make the trial seem like a reprieve, who would find a way to pollute every good thing that Castiel still held in his heart, just to torture him.

He knew it had been his tragic flaw, but Castiel still had some pride.

Crowley went on, “I’ve got some traditionalists on my roster would just  _kill_  to revive some of the classic techniques."

"Destroy me," Castiel said, fixing God with his gaze, willing his Father to look at him. “Cast me into oblivion like the brothers and sisters I killed!" he implored. Castiel refused to let himself fall to his knees and beg, not in front of Eve, not in front of Crowley. But he would plead with his eyes if only his Father would  _look_  at him. “I’m still an angel, despite what they say! Let me die like one!"

"That’s not going to happen, Cas," Eve cooed. “Crowley and me, we’ve agreed you belong in Hell."

"You can torture me in heaven!" Castiel raised his voice against the tears building in his eyes. “Just don’t-"

"Your daddy can’t help you," Crowley cut in sharply. “It’s majority rule here."

"Then why did you bring me here?" Castiel demanded, raging now, the sense of shame and betrayal and panic giving rise to anger. “Why this show? The holding cell, the courtroom, tribunal-"

"Because I had to hear what you have to say for yourself!" God looked Castiel in the eye, his expression fierce.

"I’m sorry!" Castiel answered without hesitation, without thought. He realized he was shouting, and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought you left me." He felt tears, hot on his face, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore that Eve and Crowley were there. All Castiel wanted was to speak to his Father. “I thought I could do better than you. I was proud and selfish and wrong. And I’m sorry."

All the anger melted out of God’s eyes, leaving only disappointment and sadness. “So am I."


	4. Chapter 4

At some point. Anyanka had realized that her cash register was intact again and, seemingly bored with Illyria, had occupied herself playing with it. Illyria didn’t mind, she was busy remembering the songs of the stars. She wouldn’t have noticed when Death returned with the angel, and took Anyanka to her trial, except for the fact that it resulted in the room shrinking around her. 

The columns of her temple became embedded in walls covered in patterns and colours offensive to the eyes, and her statue filled up half the room. There was a small television set and single bed whose covering matched the wallpaper. The angel named Castiel sat on the edge of the bed. His cheeks were wet and his eyes were unfocused; Illyria guessed that his trial had not gone well either. 

Something about the scene was familiar to Illyria. It was like a memory, viewed from the outside. Castiel looked like how Illyria felt after her trial, when Anyanka had roused her from her irrational bout of self-pity. Illyria was struck by the similarities of their situations, and despite the fact that the angel and the vengeance demon ought to have been beneath her notice, she felt a sense of camaraderie with them. 

Illyria got to her feet and approached Castiel. She rested a hand on his shoulder, and he blinked up at her, surprised. 

"Are you okay?"

 

* * *

 

When Cas returned he didn’t look Anya in the eye, and she could tell he had been crying. She had guessed that things weren’t going to go well for him, and she was sorry that she was right. He really wasn’t half bad.

It didn’t escape Anya’s notice that thus far, The Powers That Be had not been too merciful. 

Death touched Anya’s arm, and she found herself in the small claims court she had appeared at once, when a supplier had sent her a shippment of rotten newt eyes. The only difference was that this bench sat three judges instead of one. 

In the centre sat a scruffy little man with big sad eyes. To his right was a teenaged girl with pale skin and long black hair. To his left was someone who looked an awful lot like a character -  _what was his name? Badger?_  - from one of the shows that Xander and Andrew watched together. 

All in all, not too scary. Nothing Anya couldn’t handle. 

"Hi!" Anya said, in what she hoped was an un-threatening manner. 

Scruffy’s mouth twitched up, bemused. “Hi Anyanka," he answered.

"It’s Anya," she said, trying to keep her tone casual and light. “Anya Jenkins. That’s my human name, and that’s what I’d like you to call me, because I think of myself as human."

"Okay, Anya it is."

"Not that you have to call me that if you don’t want to. It’s not like I’m in a position to threaten you if you don’t." Anya laughed nervously. 

"No, it’s fine."

"I like humans," Anya added for good measure. 

"Oh…" the scruffy man nodded. “Okay."

 

* * *

 

Castiel found it hard to believe that the creature that he had tried to kill as soon as he saw it, and who had subsequently tossed him across the room like a ragdoll, sincerely cared about how he was doing. He made his answer brief. “No."

Illyria didn’t move her hand from his shoulder and continued to watch him expectantly. Castiel wondered what she was waiting for. 

"You’re supposed to tell me what’s troubling you," she explained after a minute. 

"Oh." Castiel looked at Illyria askance, confused as to why she was doing this. Her gaze was insitant and unsettling. “Um… I’m to be sent to Hell," he told her. 

"Death said that we won’t know our fates until the tribunal gives it’s final decision."

Castiel scoffed. “They made it very clear that my fate was already decided."

Illyria nodded and sat down next to him. “I’m to be cast into the abyss," she shared. 

Neither looked at the other as they contemplated their near futures. 

"I envy you," Castiel said. 

"You are wrong to do so. Existence is preferable to oblivion," Illyria stated with authority.

Castiel imagined what kind of existence was in store for him. “Not where I’m going."

"Hell is weak and lacking in leadership. Were I sent there, I would learn its secrets, build alliances. Then I would kill all who ever challenged me. I would establish my dominion over the entire dimension, and make it a foothold for future conquests."

Castiel stared at Illyria. She was being perfectly serious. 

She continued, “You are foolish to overlook such an opportunity." She turned to Castiel. “Have I reassured you?"

Castiel tried to puzzle out how Illyria’s words could have been reassuring. He failed. “No."

Illyria seemed perturbed. “After my trial I was greatly distressed. I spoke to Anyanka, and she pointed out the error in my thinking. I was comforted. This ought to have worked."

Castiel gaped. He had just experienced an actual, genuine attempt to comfort him. 

Illyria cocked her head, studying the angel. “Perhaps you’re doing something wrong?"

 

* * *

 

Illyria’s attempt to reassure Castiel was unsuccessful, but he thanked her for her efforts, and that was enough to convince Illyria that she, at least, had done everything properly. 

Illyria noticed a window on the wall opposite her statue. The room being metaphysical, she wondered what was on the other side, and rose to investigate. 

"Anyanka, she prefers to be called ‘Anya,’ by the way," the angel mentioned.

Illyria pulled aside the curtain. There was only a blank wall behind it. 

Illyria turned to face Castiel and nodded. “I prefer that people address me on their knees, while pledging their eternal devotion," she told Castiel, since he was taking into account people’s preferences on such matters. 

However, Castiel did not fall to his knees. He just continued to stare at her. 

"How did you help save the world?" Castiel asked. “Was it by dying?"

"I fought along side the champions of the human race, to crush the organizational structure of those who seek to proliferate evil."

Castiel nodded vaguely. 

"Was death your contribution to the planet’s well-being?" Illyria asked. Castiel’s question had reminded Illyria of the one other commonality she shared with him and Anya: that it was due to their efforts that humanity continued to thrive. The way tiny beings fought for existence held a certain fascination for Illyria, and she found that she was curious about her companions’ stories. 

"No," Castiel answered. Illyria waited for him to elaborate, and was disappointed.

Castiel stopped staring at her, his gaze lingering on the statue instead. Every so often his eyes would drift back to Illyria. He looked as though he was working at a puzzle that he only half understood.

Illyria sat on a small table situated underneath the fake window. An anemic potted plant shared the table with her, and she stroked it’s leaves. She pitied the thing. Once, her touch would have made it flower, and her whispers would have inspired it to grow higher than such a plant could imagine. 

Illyria reminded herself that the plant wasn’t real anyways. The only real things in this place were the new god, the Mother, the usurper demon, Anya, Castiel, and herself. And, of course, Death. 

 

* * *

 

"So, Anya, my name is Chuck. I’m God."

Anya let a nervous giggle escape. Chuck stared at her.

"Chuck, it’s a funny…" Anya started. 

Evidently, he did not see the humour in the situation. Badger and Snow White watched Anya curiously. 

"Ah… um…" Anya searched for a way to finish the sentence that wasn’t insulting, to no avail. So she deflected. “Which god?"

"I’m sorry?" Chuck said, as though he was not used to being asked such questions. 

"There’s a lot of gods, so saying, ‘I’m god,’ doesn’t mean a whole lot unless you specify which one," Anya said, affecting a casual, curious tone. 

"The God of Abraham," he said as though it should have been obvious.  

"You’re Castiel’s god," Anya realized, so of course she said it aloud.  _Brain-mouth filter, why do you abandon me when I need you most?_

"Yes," Chuck said, looking like he was wondering what she was going on about. 

"I just saw him," Anya shrugged and gestured to where the exit would have been, if it existed, “and he was looking pretty down,"  _And you did that to him_ , “and you’re  _his_  god…" Chuck’s eyes narrowed, as though daring her to say what was on her mind.  _Anya, it’s time to shut up._  "Okay…" she trailed off. 

It was really sinking in how  _not merciful_  these Powers That Be were. 

Chuck let Anya stand in uncomfortable silence under the stares of the tribunal for a moment before continuing. 

He pointed to Badger. “This is Crowley, he’s…" Crowley gave him a pointed look, and Chuck rolled his eyes. “King of Hell."

"It’s the Hell with Lucifer, in case you were wondering which hell we’re talking about." Crowley spoke with a smooth British accent, and a small smile which suggested that he found something amusing. 

"Oh, so this is a Judeo-Christian thing?" Anya said, trying to be politely conversational. 

"Yeah," Crowley answered. 

"I prayed to Freyr back in the day in case you were… never mind." It occured to Anya that the tribunal might find the mention of another belief system threatening. She kicked herself mentally.

Chuck gestured to Snow White. “This is Eve of Purgatory, Mother of All." 

"Hi," Anya said meekly, and made a conscious effort to keep her mouth shut. 

 

* * *

 

Castiel tried not to look at Illyria. He could feel the echoes of her true form, see it’s shadows, it’s reflections in the air. She was an ancient, all-consuming power. Like the Leviathan. Her presence reminded Castiel of having those great lurching beasts inside of him, their demand for power, his inability to control them. 

Worse, Illyria reminded Castiel of himself after his great victory over Raphael, the victory that he had maimed and killed his friends for. Killing all who ever challenged him. Demanding to be praised on bended knee. Throughout everything, a part of Castiel had always insisted that he was doing the right thing, that it was for the greater good. But Illyria’s will to power was unvarnished and, Castiel feared, more honest than his own. 

And yet, within that vast creature that sought dominion over all she saw, that revelled in conquest, that delighted in supremacy over every living thing, there was something that resembled, or at least aspired to, kindness. Something that fought on the side of good. 

Castiel glanced at Illyria. She was caressing a house plant, coaxing it to grow. Though judged unfit for Heaven, Purgatory, or even Hell, Castiel suspected that Illyria might in fact be redeemable. And if she was redeemable, anyone was. 

"You said you fought with the champions of human kind," Castiel said. “Why?"

Illyria turned her head to Castiel. Her face was frank and open. Of course it was. She was a god; unlike Castiel, she had no use for secrets or shame. “Their enemies attacked me, left me broken and bleeding. I could not suffer them to live." 

Castiel’s heart sank. “Is that all?" 

Illyria dropped her gaze, and for the first time Castiel saw her expression shuttered. “I fought for my Qwa’ha Xahn."

The words were from a language so ancient that Castiel didn’t recognize them. He searched through his memory of known languages, trying to find one that was similar. “For your… watcher?" he guessed. 

"My teacher," Illyria corrected. “He fell in battle and my grief drove me to vanquish half the armies of our enemies."

"You loved him?" Castiel asked hopefully. 

"Love is a weakness," Illyria responded. 

Castiel closed his eyes, pushing away the thoughts that told him that everything he claimed to fight for - free will, peace on earth and in heaven, even Dean - was all a veneer, that really he was like Illyria, covetous of power, and that’s why his Father abandoned him, that’s why he was condemned. 

Illyria’s voice cut through the haze of doubts. “I believe I did."

 

* * *

 

Illyria’s thoughts had returned to Wesley again. The way he looked at her in his dying moments - looked at Fred, but it was her, Illyria - in a way that even her most devoted servants never had. The way he stirred something within her, a feeling that she knew she would never be able to capture again, and its elusiveness tormented her. 

"You’re wrong," the angel said.

"I doubt it," Illyria answered, though she was unclear what she was supposed to be wrong about.

"Love isn’t a weakness."

"What I’ve seen of love is that it brings pain, loss, and regret. It is attachment, weighing you down and holding you back." She met Castiel’s gaze. “You wish to convince me otherwise."

At last, Castiel told his story. It was about two brothers, demons, and angels. The brothers were destined to be used as weapons in a battle that would destroy the earth. Ultimately, the bond between the brothers prevented them from being used as such, and the plans of Heaven and Hell came to nought. 

"What do you mean to prove with this tale?" Illyria asked when he had finished. 

He blinked at her. “The love that Sam and Dean had for each other saved the world."

"Yes, it was the angel’s weakness."

"No, it was the Winchester’s strength."

"It was a flaw in the angel’s plan that they ignorantly omitted to account for." Illyria was adamant. “One does not set two people against each other who have a close relationship. To do so is asking for them to question their roles and turn on you. Angels are at a distinct disadvantage, due to their need for vessels, why would they add to that by choosing two brothers for opposing generals?" 

Castiel opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before answering, “It was destined to be so…" 

"Angels are poor strategists," Illyria concluded. “Love was their weakness." 

There was no more kindness in Castiel’s expression as he regarded Illyria. “Fine." He threw up his hands. “Just… fine." 

Illyria was disappointed with the story. “You have yet to tell me of your role in saving the world."

Castiel shrugged and glanced around the room, avoiding Illyria’s eyes. “I threw a molotov."

Illyria frowned at him and cocked her head. “I don’t know what that means."

Castiel shrugged again, and said nothing.

Illyria slid off the table and approached him. “You are the soldier of a god," she said. “Yet there is a reticense and shame hanging about you that is unbefitting for a warrior."

"My role doesn’t matter," Castiel muttered.

Illyria fixed Castiel with her gaze, trying to read him. The regret and anguish clung to him, but didn’t tell a story. The angel fidgeted and avoided eye contact. 

"Why?" Illyria asked. 

Castiel closed his eyes and took a breath. “Because whatever I did right, I cancelled out by…" Castiel paused to find the right words. "… indulging my pride; seeking more power than I could reasonably command; lying to, betraying, injuring and killing my friends…" He pressed his lips together briefly and cast his eyes upwards to the vaulted ceiling. "… being petty and vindictive in victory, and," he took another breath, “in the process of my downfall, letting the Leviathan loose on the world." Castiel looked Illyria in the eye. “Be satisfied with my answer and please, stop asking." 

Illyria nodded. Castiel’s guilt prevented him from taking credit for his past acheivements. It made the kind of sense that she had come to expect from lesser beings. 

Illyria sat next to Castiel. “I knew Leviathans," she said. “They were unnecessarily belligerent." 

Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed and he burried his face in his hands. 

 

* * *

 

"I have a theory about you," Eve said. There was a confidence and worldliness about her that was incongruous with her young face. It put Anya on edge. “That vengeance, the demon, is who you are. It defines you."

Anya listened to Eve, her eyes locked on her like a deer in headlights. “I know I’m a demon here, but-"

"Yes, you are," Eve cut in. “And you see, Heaven and Hell are for humans. But the monsters come to me." 

"I’m not a monster!" Anya exclaimed, frustration at being interrupted adding to the stress of the situation. “I was one for a long, long time, and even after I lost my powers I didn’t really think of myself as a human like the others, but I am human! I was born a human and I died like one!"

Eve watched Anya carefully. “Then how is it that you were a demon for so long?"

"I… I chose it," Anya squeaked out, knowing it didn’t sound good. 

"Ah," Anya’s gaze snapped over to Crowley. “See, most people have to go through a stint in Hell before they decide to spend their existance torturing others." Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “But then, D’Hoffryn did always have a knack for recruitment."

Anya felt a nasty weight in the pit of her stomach. This was not turning out well. “You know D’Hoffryn?" Anya asked. 

Crowley nodded. “We were office rivals back in the day." He cast a sideways glance at Eve. “Told you she was one of ours," he said with a smirk. 

"Then you should know that I gave it up!" The distilled desperation flowing through Anya’s veins was unlike anything she had felt before. “I was ready to die-"

"Lots of people in Hell couldn’t live with themselves either." Crowley shrugged dismissively.

"No! I repented!" 

"You killed," Chuck spoke with a patient, measured tone, “a  _lot_  of people, Anya."

Anya felt tears building in her eyes as she looked at Chuck. “I know."

"For over a thousand years."

"I know." She sniffed. “I changed. I fought for people. I fought for good. And I died!"

"You killed a few Bringers," Chuck acknowledged.

"But the fight was for the world!" Anya felt herself starting to hyperventilate. “I thought that meant something!" No one said anything. “Tell me it meant something!"

Chuck leaned back in his chair, regarding Anya cooly. “Why’d you fight? What’s your motivation?" 

Anya shrugged. “It was the Apocalypse."

"Which you’ve run away from before," Chuck leaned forward over the bench, intent on Anya’s answer. “Why did you fight?"

Anya thought back to the hours before her death. “It’s what we do. It’s our world and it’s worth saving."

"And who’s ‘we’?"

"Humans." Anya paused, thinking of the ones who taught her what it means to be human. “My friends," she said, more surely this time. She imagined them in Sunnydale: Buffy, Giles, Willow, Dawn, Spike, Andrew. And stupid Xander. Fighting on without her. “I wasn’t going to leave my friends." Anya didn’t know if it was the right answer. She felt that she should say something grander about human kind, and good, and principles and things like that. But it was the most honest answer she had. 

Anya felt tears sliding down her cheeks as significant looks passed between Chuck, Eve and Crowley.

"Right," Chuck said, “I think that’s everything we need to know to make our decision."

Anya felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. It was over and she still didn’t know what was going to happen to her. 

Death appeared at Anya’s side, and raised a hand to take her back. Then, something occured to her. 

"Wait!" Death’s hand froze mid-air, and the three Powers stared at her. “How did it end? The fight in Sunnydale, how did it end?"

"Does it matter?" Chuck asked. “Your friends all die eventually."

They had to answer her, she couldn’t leave without knowing. “It matters to me."

Chuck considered this, then nodded. “Your friends won."


	5. Chapter 5

Castiel lay on his back, missing people, as he tried to make out the peak of the ceiling of Illyria’s temple . Illyria had discovered the television set, and was watching show about doctors, thankfully leaving Castiel to try to ignore her oppressive presence as much as was possible in a tiny room that was half-filled with a statue of her. 

 

Castiel tried to escape to his memories from the millions of years when things were simple. But of the brothers and sisters he shared those times with, most were gone, and too many by his own hand. Anna, Balthazar, Rachel, even Uriel - he missed them all. And he missed the sense of certainty and purpose that they shared. Part of him felt like that had been robbed from them, but of course he knew now that the certainty had always been a lie. There was no comfort in those memories. 

 

So Castiel’s thoughts returned to Dean, as they always did. Dean was the switch that turned something on in Castiel, that challenged him to see and think differently, and awoke emotions that he never knew he could feel. Cas missed the trust that they shared, so different from that between him and his siblings, because it was so hard earned.  _And easily lost_. He missed the way Dean spoke with his soul through his eyes, so that when he met his gaze everything inside Dean was as visible as when Castiel first found his soul in Hell. And Cas missed Sam, poor Sam, trying so hard to do the right thing, and always falling prey to the worst evils along the way.  _Including me_. He missed fighting alongside the brothers, the comraderie, the sense of purpose that was different because it was a purpose that Cas had discovered for himself. 

 

Castiel wished that he had been able to find Dean without the Apocalypse hovering over them, that they had been able to share some genuine happiness. As it was, even his best memories were tinged with darkness. Castiel knew he had to enjoy them while he could. In Hell, the memories would be ripped from him, melted down and reforged into weapons of torture. 

 

"This drama is very instructive about the workings of human relationships," came Illyria’s voice from the foot of the bed. “I wish I had discovered it when it would have been of more use to me."

 

Castiel said nothing. He thought of Dean’s eyes again. Crowley could go hang himself. 

 

He heard the television being shut off. Illyria entered his line of sight, standing over him. “It illustrated how love interfered in the lives and work of human healers." 

 

Thinking of Dean was painful, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to push the man from his mind. Dean changed him. He was the fissure in Castiel’s grace. And whether Cas had acted to protect him or impress him, he couldn’t honestly say, but everything was because of him. 

 

"Love is a weakness," Castiel said, understanding what Illyria was getting at. 

 

"Do you agree now?" 

 

Castiel shrugged. He really didn’t know anymore. 

 

Something seemed to catch Illyria’s attention, and she walked around to the other side of the bed. 

 

Illyria had a way of driving Castiel’s thoughts to the most painful and troubling conclusions, then coralling them there. He found himself missing Anya. She could be grating and invasive, but there was a brightness to her personality that Castiel appreciated. He wished for her company. 

 

Castiel heard the clinking of coins. Then the bed started vibrating, and Illyria lay down next to him. Castiel couldn’t be bothered to move. 

 

After a minute, Illyria spoke. “I fail to understand how magic is involved in this device." 

 

"There isn’t any," Castiel explained with disinterest. “It’s an idiom."

 

"Then how are fingers incorperated?" 

 

"They aren’t."

 

There was silence, except for the hum of the vibrating bed, as lllyria absorbed this information. 

 

"The name of the device is a lie," Illyria commented indignantly.

 

"So it would seem."

 

The bed hummed and vibrated on. 

 

"It provides a pleasant sensation nonetheless."

 

Castiel didn’t reply. 

 

In his peripheral vision, he saw the walls of the room expanding outward. He got off the bed as Illyria did the same. 

 

Death had returned with Anya, who wore a resigned expression on her tear-stained face. 

 

"The Powers That Be will take a few hours to deliberate," Death told them. “You will be informed of their decisions in due time." Before anyone could ask for more information, he vanished. 

 

Anya walked wearily over to the round table that had rematerialized when her shop had been added back to the environment of the holding cell, and slumped into a chair. An anemic-looking houseplant on the table top caught her attention. 

 

"Who put that there?" Her voice was light and tired-sounding.

 

"It’s Castiel’s," Illyria said. “Talking to it made me happy, so I made it stay."

 

Castiel noticed that, unlike the previous times when the three of them had been in the holding cell together, there were fewer pillars and his motel bed and TV set remained. Those must have made Illyria happy too. 

 

Anya nodded weakly. She looked as wilted as the plant.

 

It surprised Castiel to see her this way. He had expected at least one of them to be granted entry into Heaven, and Anya seemed the most likely of the three. He went to the table and sat next to her.

 

"What happened?" he asked softly.

 

Anya shrugged and shook he head. “I really don’t know." Anya made a poor attempt at a smile, before biting her lip and blinking back tears. 

 

Illyria stood next to Anya, and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. 

 

 

* * *

 

Anya told Castiel and Illyria about her trial. 

 

"Your distress is unwarranted," Illyria said as soon as she was finished. “If none of the Powers are agreed on your fate it may yet be better than Castiel’s or mine." Anya’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You should be comforted," Illyria added.

 

Anya turned to the angel. “What’d they say to you?"

 

Castiel’s eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere except the source of the question. Illyria noticed that he did this whenever he didn’t want to talk about something. “Crowley and Eve agreed that I should be in Hell," he muttered.

 

"Oh, Cas…"

 

"But Illyria has a point." He looked Anya in the eye. “They haven’t decided on you yet. And you bravely made the right choices. My father will surely argue that you have a place in heaven." 

 

Illyria wondered at Castiel’s pronouncement on the intentions of his father, it went against all she knew and observed about the new god.

 

"Why do you say that?" she asked.  

 

Castiel turned to face Illyria, brow furrowed in confusion. “Because it’s true," he said plainly.

 

Illyria tried to read his expression. “Are you lying or deluded?"

 

Castiel was glaring at her now. “Neither," he said, his voice dropping to a growl.

 

"Why would he care about Anya’s fate? Your father is a cold and distant god who allows his children to suffer and die without his intervention or even the blessing of his presence."

 

Castiel rose to his feet. His face was a foot and a half from hers. “You’re wrong about him."

 

"Uh… guys?" Anya tried to interject.

 

Illyria ignored her. She was studying the angel’s face. His loyalty to his father was what Illyria would have expected from a soldier of one of the Old Ones. But the Old Ones were deserving. Castiel was a warrior of the highest order, everything about his demenor told her this, as well as the fact that Illyria had found some common footing with him. The way that he made himself subserviant to a lesser god, even after that god had cast him to his enemies, repulsed her. 

 

"A true god would not have allowed you to come to this," Illyria said.

 

"You speak of something which you know nothing about."

 

Illyria thought she saw the air ripple around Castiel’s head and shoulders. She noticed he adjusted his stance, as though readying to throw a punch. Very well. She had craved violence earlier, and now it seemed like her wish would be fulfilled. 

 

"Guys? Could you just… cool down?" Anya said with a note of distress.

 

Illyria took several steps away from Castiel, but only so she could size him up. 

 

The angel was weaker than Illyria, but experienced, and thanks to their earlier altercation he had a sense of the kind of strength he was up against. He would be wary of making the first move. Illyria tried to circle around him.

 

"I was a true god. My subjects knew me. They trembled under my wrath and felt ecstasy at my joy."

 

Castiel tracked Illyria’s movements, turning to face her. For the first time since she met him, Illyria saw shadows and light refracted in the air around Castiel. The edges of wings, and the faces of wild beasts next to that of the man.

 

Illyria felt the thrill of approaching battle rising in her chest. This would be an easy fight, but not unsatisfying.

 

"You don’t deserve oblivion." There was a wild gleam in Castiel’s eyes, and his voice reverberated through the stone of Illyria’s temple. “You  _deserve_  Hell."

 

"Both of you, stop and breath, okay?" Anya said.

 

Illyria’s lips curled into a smile.  _Vindictive in victory with more power than he could command_. She understood. “You’re not speaking to me at all, but to yourself. It’s plain on your face."

 

Anya shouted something about calming down, but neither Castiel nor Illyria paid her any mind as they circled each other. 

 

"Maybe you’re just as much a monster as I am," Castiel said, voice full of loathing.

 

This fight would be better than Illyria first anticipated. Because for the angel, it was deeply personal.

 

Illyria stopped pacing and faced her opponent full-on, deliberately openning herself up to attack. 

 

"You wish to fight me, Angel of the Lord?"

 

Castiel lowered his head, and took a defensive stance. He wasn’t taking her bait. 

 

"Angel of the weak and careless god?"

 

Castiel came at Illyria swinging. She dodged easily, caught him in the jaw with one blow and knocked him down with another. 

 

Castiel rolled when he hit the ground, and he was back on his feet and coming at Illyria again sooner than she expected. He ducked her next swing, and landed a fist in Illyria’s solar plexus. 

 

  
_A worthy opponent after all_.

 

A smile spread across Illyria’s face. 

 

 

* * *

 

  
_Lunatics. I’m stuck in the waiting room to the afterlife with lunatics_ , Anya thought, watching the fight play out.

 

Illyria was clearly superior in strength and skill, and Anya winced, seeing her punch Castiel in the gut and the kick him in the head. Cas had endurance, though, rebounding quickly and unexpected sending Illyria flying into the wall. 

 

"Okay, great, now that’s out of your system-" Anya tried, but Illyria was alread back on her feet, and circling Cas again.

 

"Can’t you two just hug it out?" 

 

Apparently not, because another storm of feet and fists erupted between the angel and the god-king. This one ended with Illyria knocking Cas  _through_  one of the pillars, and a chunk of it landing on top of him.

 

"Ouch," Anya said.

 

She was thinking,  _Well, at least it’s over_ , when Castiel rose from the rubble, shakey but raising his fists, fixing Illyria with a determined glare. 

 

"Okay, that’s enough!" Anya shouted, striding over and inserting herself between the combatants. “STOP! Just stop it!"

 

Illyria gave Anya a murderous look, and Anya almost bolted before she remembered that she couldn’t be killed again. 

 

“ _What_  are you two doing?"

 

She turned to Cas. His gaze was unfocused and he was swaying on his feet. There was blood all over his face and jacket. 

 

"You’re going to  _Hell_. You don’t think you’re going to be punished enough there?"

 

Castiel blinked and looked like he was trying to figure out which of the three Anyas he was seeing was the real one. 

 

She turned back to Illyria. “And you! You’re going to  _stop existing_  in a few hours and you’re picking fights?"

 

"I take great pleasure in combat," Illyria said.

 

"Okay," Anya searched for a response. “Well… _I_  don’t want to spend my last few hours before going god-knows-where watching the two of you spray each other’s blood all over my fake store!"

 

Castiel said nothing, staring at the floor in way that could be interpreted as either ashamed or concussed. 

 

Illyria was unfazed. She looked past Anya to her opponent. “Shall we continue?"

 

Anya just huffed and shook her head. She decided to see if the fake store had any of fake Giles’ whiskey hidden under the fake counter. 

 

As she was digging around under the counter, Anya felt tears welling up in her eyes. Crowley convinced Eve that she was his, she was certain. She only had a few hours left to enjoy anything at all, and they were going to be miserable. She stopped and closed her eyes.  _We won_ , Anya told herself, repeating it over and over. Her friends were successful, the world was safe, her death meant something.  _We won_.

 

She found the bottle of Jack Daniels and a glass. When she straightened up, Cas was there. The surprise made Anya jump and shout something incoherent. 

 

Castiel was no longer bloodied, and had a puppy-dog look on his face. “I’m sorry for upsetting you."

 

He seemed sincere. And the puppy-dog face was appealing. But Anya couldn’t get over the way Cas had kept throwing himself at Illyria’s fists, especially when she put it together with what the god-king told him before they started going at it.  _You’re not speaking to me at all, but to yourself_. 

 

Anya shook her head. “You have issues," she told him. 

 

Cas shrugged in acknowledgement.

 

Still, better to spend her time with some head-case angel than alone. 

 

"Apology accepted," Anya said, pouring herself a drink. “You want some?"

 

Cas answered with a weary, “Very much so."

 

Anya poured a glass for Castiel. He knocked it back immediately and indicated that he’d like some more. When he did the same thing again, Anya just passed him the bottle. “I don’t think it’s gonna get any emptier," she said. She noticed that the pillar Castiel had flown through just a few minutes ago had repaired itself.

 

Anya heard Illyria turn on the Magic Fingers, as she watched Cas down the bottle like a hobo with something to forget.  _Yeah, he definitely has issues_. 

 

 

* * *

 

Illyria seemed content to lie on the vibrating bed watching whatever was on TV, which was fine with Castiel because it made it easy for him and Anya to avoid her. The two of them sat at the table with the small house plant, drinking from a bottomless bottle of whiskey. Castiel felt the start of a nice happy buzz, and the comforting numbness of alcohol spreading through his system made it easy to push away thoughts of Heaven and Hell.

 

"You never told me about your prostitute friends," Anya said.

 

Cas looked at her askance. Then he remembered. “No," he smiled. “My friends are hunters."

 

Anya scrunched up her nose. “They stay in crummy motels and shoot animals in the woods?"

 

"They hunt monsters." 

 

"Oh, like the Scoobies!" 

 

"Who?" 

 

"My friends."

 

It seemed ages since Anya had told Castiel her life story, before both their trials. But he remembered. “Yes! But that’s all they do. None of your jobs or school or settling down. It’s a way of life."

 

"Do they get paid?" Anya asked with great interest. 

 

"No."

 

Anya rolled her eyes, and finished her glass of whiskey. “Of course not."

 

She set her glass on the table, and Castiel filled it up again, then took a hearty swig from the bottle himself. As long as he didn’t think too hard about what was happening, Castiel could imagine that he was just having a good time, sharing friendly conversation with an aimiable vengeance demon. 

 

"So motels make you happy?"

 

"Yes," Castiel said firmly.

 

"What else makes you happy, Cas?" Anya’s speech was starting to slur. 

 

Castiel recalled how he felt when he first returned to Heaven after the Apocalypse was averted. “Saving the world."

 

Anya looked profoundly unimpressed. “Well, obviously, Captain Obvious. I mean things like… closing out the cash register and counting your money, or ice cream, or winning the Game of Life." 

 

"Oh…" Castiel thought he knew what she was getting at. Things that were specific to him. “Seeing my friend smile?" he tried.

 

"Yes, like that."

 

"Sunny Tuesdays in the park."

 

"Good!" Anya said encouragingly. 

 

"Um… this makes me happy," he lifted the bottle of whiskey. 

 

Anya laughed. “Clearly."

 

"And…" He seemed to be running out of answers. “I’m happy that there is someone brave and good and friendly here for me to spend my time with."

 

"Oh, Cas…" Anya gave him  a watery smile, pressing one hand to her chest, and putting the other on his knee, as a friendly gesture. It felt nice. “I’m glad you’re here too. I mean, I’m not glad that you’re dead, or-"

 

"I know what you mean," Cas said reassuringly.

 

"Now I’m getting weepy. And anxious. The whiskey was supposed to stop that!"

 

There were indeed tears in Anya’s eyes, and her brow crinkled with worry. It made Castiel feel sorry he had said anything at all. 

 

"We need to talk about something else," she said with urgency.

 

Castiel was wary of hitting on the wrong subject again. “What should we talk about?" he asked seriously.

 

"I don’t know. Tell me a story."

 

"What kind of story?"

 

"Just make it a happy one."

 

 

* * *

 

Illyria was disappointed in her companions. She had begun to feel some kinship with them, only to discover that they were beneath her after all. Castiel’s lack of pride was perplexing and repellant, as was Anya’s aversion to violence. Illyria reminded herself that mighty rulers ruled alone. But, now she was dead, and ruled over nothing.

 

She flipped through the television channels. Nothing good was on. 

 

The “magic fingers" device stopped shaking the bed, allowing Illyria to better hear the conversation that Castiel and Anya were having several feet away. He was relating his story about the two brothers, but it was different from the one he told Illyria. Everyone was more noble and made better decisions, and in this version, the brothers had an angel friend.

 

Curious, Illyria turned off the TV, and joined Castiel and Anya. Anya nodded in acknowledgement as Illyria sat cross-legged on the table top. Castiel glanced at her uneasily, then continued with his story. 

 

"Sam toppled over the ledge with Micheal in his arms."

 

"Oh no!" Anya cried, and her distress was genuine. “You said this was a happy story!"

 

"I’m not finished! Dean dove forward and grabbed Sam’s hand, and Sam held on Adam. So it was only Lucifer and Micheal who fell into the Cage."

 

This was definitely not what happened, according to Castiel’s earlier telling. And it was inconsistent with his explanation of how angelic vessels worked. But he continued on with his tale before Illyria could question these developments, and she was curious as to how it would turn out. 

 

"Dean held tightly onto Sam, and kept him from falling, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull him up. Then Bobby woke up, and he saw Dean trying to save his brother, so he went and helped. But they were both tired and didn’t have the strength to lift Sam and Adam over the edge."

 

Anya nodded excitedly, listening with rapt attention. 

 

"Then, their angel friend came back from where Lucifer had sent him, and he saw what trouble they were in. So he grabbed on to Sam, and raised him… no, wait… they all saved Sam and Adam together."

 

Illyria realized that Castiel was changing actual events to achieve some sort of effect, though she didn’t know to what end.

 

"And they stood in the field, happy that everyone was alive and that the world was saved."

 

Anya smiled tearily. Illyria expected the story to end there, but it didn’t. 

 

Castiel continued, “Sam and Dean embraced, and said they loved each other, and that each was the best brother that anyone could wish for. They hugged Bobby, and told him, ‘Bobby, you are like a father to us, and we love you.’ And Bobby said, ‘I love you idjits like my sons.’" He affected an accent and gruff demeanor for Bobby’s voice.  

 

"Then Sam and Dean remembered that Adam was alone. So they embraced him as well, and said, ‘Adam, you are our little brother. We want you to make your home with us.’ And Adam said he would. And the four of them decided that they would get a big house with Jo and Ellen where they could all live, and be happy, and hunt monsters as a family."

 

Illyria wondered what the point of this denument was. It was lengthy and added nothing to the plot. Anya seemed to be enjoying, though. 

 

"Then Sam and Dean remembered their angel friend. They thanked him for his help, and Dean asked him to stay. The angel said, ‘I’m sorry, but there is work for me in Heaven.’ The brothers understood, but they made the angel promise to join them for dinner every Sunday.

 

"So the angel returned to Heaven, where he fixed everything that was wrong. And he kept his promise to the brothers. The end."

 

"It was a beautiful story, Cas," Anya said, wiping tears from her eyes. “These are happy tears."

 

Illyria considered questioning Castiel about the story. However, he and Anya were more or less ignoring Illyria’s presence, and she sensed that they were still angry with her, however unjustly, for her earlier fight with Castiel. She decided to remain aloof. 

 

"I wish I hadn’t told you all my stories now," Anya was saying to the angel.

 

"You can tell me one of them again."

 

"A happy one, right?"

 

Anya thought for a moment, then began telling a story about a Vampire Slayer and her friends’ fight against Glorificus. Illyria listened intently, for Glorificus was famed for her cruelty and insanity. She was disappointed when the Slayer defeated the god with an ordinary sword and an inane quip, and the battle bizzarely transformed into Anya’s wedding.

 

"No! A double wedding! Because Willow and Tara used their magic to make it so gay people could get married. And Willow said she liked using her magic for good like that, so she promised that she would only ever use her magic for good. And Tara said, “I love you Willow," and Willow said, “I love you too." And Giles said that he was very proud of all of them and that he would never leave them, but that he would give Anya his shop anyways. And everyone told Dawn that they loved her, and Dawn said, “I know. I am secure in my self-image and not a klepto." And Spike said, “I am going to be a good vampire-"

 

Illyria was startled at the mention of a familiar name, and Anya’s attempt at an accent like her pet’s, and interrupted. “You know a vampire named Spike?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"I know this Spike."

 

Anya waved her hand dismissively. “I bet every third vampire thinks, ‘ooh Spike’s a cool name, I’m going to call myself Spike now!’" Anya took a sip of whiskey. “Anyways…

 

"Spike said, ‘I am going to be a good vampire. I love you Buffy, but not in a creepy way.’ And Buffy said, ‘Okay! I am alive, and happy that I’m alive!’ and her mom said, ‘Me too!’ And Xander…" Anya fished the whiskey in her glass “Xander said that he loved Anya and that he would never leave her. And Anya loved them all. The end."

 

"I liked that story, Anya," Castiel said, “That was a good story."

 

Illyria realized that his earnestness came from intoxication, but she was still incredulous at the pronouncement. “But there was little plot and Glorificus was defeated far too easily." 

 

Castiel grumbled something. 

 

Anya turned to her. “Do you have any stories, Illyria?" She had the sense that the friendliness in the vengeance demon’s voice was forced

 

"Happy," Castiel qualified.

 

"Yes, it has to be a happy story," Anya agreed.

 

That was easy enough. “I was a god-"

 

“ _Not_  about how your joy was the ecstasy of your subjects."

 

Illyria gave Castiel a withering glare for daring to interrupt her, but he seemed impervious. She considered. Her time in the human world had been defined by sadness. She reflected on the stories Anya and Castiel told, especially the differences in the angel’s story and it’s inconsistencies. Things going right where they had been wrong before. She realized that, like pointing out the errors in one’s thinking, that this was another form of comfort. Illyria wondered if it was effective. She began. 

 

"My Qwa’ha Xahn was dying, and I saved him. I ripped the human soul out of my being, and gave her back to him. Then he said he would stay with me."

 

Castiel blinked and his eyes focused on Illyria, as though he just realized now the implications of Illyria’s human shell. 

 

"The haze of grief lifted from the human’s friends when they realized what had happened, and they praised the day that the great Illyria came into their lives. My Qwa’ha Xahn taught me to walk in the world, and he loved me. Spike was a good pet, we frequently sparred without interruption-"

 

Illyria took the opportunity to glare significantly at Anya.

 

”- and he loved me. And their leader won all his battles easily, and with no loss of life. And he loved me as well. They all did."

 

Castiel and Anya stared blankly at Illyria.

 

"The end."

 

Her audience still didn’t react, and Illyria felt no comfort. Perhaps she had done something wrong.

 

"Was I supposed to refer to myself in the third person?"

 

"No, it was a good…" Anya reached across the table and clapped a hand on Illyria’s knee. "… good try." She gave her an encouraging pat. “And that’s what matters."

 

"Very enlightening," Castiel commented, his voice heavy with significance and drunkeness. 

 

Illyria was about to demand to know what he was implying, when Anya poured a drink and slid it across the table to her. A peace offering. 

 

She raised the glass to her face and sniffed it. “This is foul poison."

 

"Gets the job done, though," said Castiel.

 

Illyria felt she had enough of these two. They had been angry at her for reasons she did not understand, and though they were flawed, pathetic beings, they still dared to patronize and mock her.

 

"You drink to forget, yet your end draws inexorably nearer," Illyria said, reminding them that though they were all in the same situation, she was the only one brave enough to face her impending fate with her faculties intact. 

 

Castiel rolled his eyes at her. “You breed with the mouth of a goat." He kept a straight face for about two seconds, and then broke down giggling. 

 

Anya stared at him, then snorted and laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

The Powers That Be sat alone in the courtroom.

"This shouldn’t take too long," Crowley said.

"No?" Eve asked.

"Isn’t each one’s fate agreed on?"

"Well, let’s do this properly anyways," Chuck said. “Starting with Illyria."

"Oblivion," Crowley stated.

"I don’t think that’s fair," challenged Eve.

"Why?" Crowley scoffed, “Because she’s so pure of heart and good-intentioned?"

"She got results. And she’s one of the greatest of the Old Ones."

"She’s a menace!"

"Purgatory could contain her," Eve reasoned. “It was built for the Leviathan, after all."

"And it’s been so effective lately," Crowley quipped.

Eve gawked at his nerve. “No thanks to you! Anyways, I think I can give her a reason to stay."

"No," Crowley said definitively.

Eve turned to Chuck. “You don’t want Fred to be destroyed. I could give her an afterlife in harmony with Illyria."

Crowley cut in. “He’s not seriously going to consider that."

"I’m considering it," Chuck said.

"You’re not."

"And I’m sorry, it’s just…" he looked apologetically at Eve. “It’s just too dangerous."

"This has nothing to do with justice," Eve sneered. “Both of you. You’re just afraid."

"Gee, do y’think?" Crowley said.

"There is the safety of the world to consider," Chuck pointed out. “And I’m sorry, it’s not going to happen. Moving on."

"Angel’s hell-bound," Crowley said brusquley. “Next!"

"Now just hold on," Chuck intervened. “Look, Eve, if you want him punished, I can see to it."

"No," Crowley interrupted. “I won your favourite marble fair and square, and I’m taking it home with me."

"How is it fair?" Chuck asked indignantly. “You didn’t make a deal for a soul. You didn’t forsee any of this! It’s just petty revenge!"

"You’re bitter, I understand," Crowley said with mock-sympathy. “The King of Hell won out over the best and brightest of heaven. It must be quite a blow."

Chuck glared at Crowley. “He’ll make you sorry."

"I doubt it," Crowley answered cooly. “But I have to say that this is really interesting, seeing the authoritative father getting all soft behind the scenes." Chuck rolled his eyes. “You’re disappointed, but you still care."

"Eve, you know I’m right."

"Strangely, I think Crowley can handle one broken little angel."

"He’s stronger than you think."

"Oh, here’s the proud daddy."

"Shut up, Crowley!" Chuck turned back to Eve. “Look, let’s say we sort something out with Illyria-"

An expression of panic flashed across Crowley’s face as looked from Chuck to Eve. But Eve didn’t listen to what Chuck had to say.

"I also think that the one who broke open Purgatory and let the Leviathan loose is an even greater threat than one of the creatures it was practically built to contain! No, Chuck. Your angel deserves to be punished by someone who means it."

Crowley nodded, relieved. “Well, I’m glad we avoided that little bout of insanity. Moving right along… the vengeance demon."

"Actually, I think it’s pretty clear where she should go."

"Yeah, I guess so. Eve?"

She shrugged and nodded in assent.

"Then we’re unanimous?"

 

* * *

 

It was a lot easier for Anya to try to forget about Hell with Castiel’s company than it would have been alone. He was good company and nice to look at. It was easier to pretend that her life had been more simple and full of joy than it actually was, so that she didn’t feel the weight of regret as well as that of impending doom. But even with Cas there to talk to, even with the mantra we won running constantly in her mind, even with the haze of drunkeness forming a protective barrier between  _right now_  and everything else, Anya wasn’t entirely able to keep dark thoughts from surfacing.

"I think I’m going to Hell," Anya confessed out of the blue.

Cas choked on his whiskey and coughed. “What?"

"I’m sorry. I know we’re trying not to think about this stuff-"

"It’s Illyria’s fault," Cas said with certainty.

Illyria stared at him, equal parts puzzled and offended. “How is it my fault what she thinks?"

“‘Your end draws inexorably nearer’?" Cas quoted accusingly.

"No," Anya cut in before they started fighting again. “The thought just keeps coming back no matter how much I push it down, niggling at me, and I keep thinking I should just say it to get it out there and be done with it, and now I’ve said it, and I’m sorry, because we were laughing and now I’ve ruined it."

That wasn’t entirely true. Anya was sorry for disrupting their fantasy, but it also made her feel a little better to voice her worries. She rested her cheek on the table, and Castiel looked at her with sympathy.

"Why do you think you’re going to Hell?"

Anya sighed, and related the part of her trial that she had left out before, because she was afraid of what it meant. “Crowley said I was one of his, and made this I-told-you-so remark to Eve, like that decided things between the two of them. And only two of them need to agree, right?"

"Oh…" Anya hoped that Cas would say something to contradict her, but he didn’t. Illyria didn’t make any attempt to comfort her either.

"I just keep wondering what it’ll be like there."

To Anya’s surprise, Cas had an answer. “Hell is waiting in line."

She sat up, suspecting that Cas was pulling her leg. “Really?"

"I’ve visited." He said in all seriousness, “You wait in line for eternity."

"Were I to rule Hell-"

"Illyria, we already know."

Illyria huffed and glared at Castiel.

Anya was absorbing this news. “Well… that’s not so bad, I guess." She gave Cas a small, melancholie smile. “I’ll let you bud in front of me."

He shook his head, staring thoughtfully at the ground. “My hell will be very different. Crowley has an axe to grind with me. Literally." He took another swig from the bottle and then looked to Illyria. “I’ve decided to follow your advice."

"Have you?" she asked with interest.

Cas nodded decisively. Anya wondered what he was talking about.

He elaborated. “I will let them make me into the most cruel, vicious, murderous demon imaginable. Then I will sweep through Hell, and kill… everything."

Castiel’s gaze became distant, as though imagining what would happen. Then he noticed Anya staring at him with concern.

"I’ll find you first," he assured her. “And if you’re not there, when I’m done with Hell, I’ll go to Purgatory, and find you, and kill everything else. And then we’ll go to Heaven together, and break down the gates."

"And?" Anya was afraid of what would come next. Castiel smiled, and it sent shivers through her.

"And you can be with your friends," he said softly. “And I’ll find…" His gaze became unfocused again. “I’ll find somewhere to sit, and be happy."

Illyria narrowed her eyes incredulously at Castiel. “That is hardly what I suggested you do in Hell. You failed to grasp the essence of my advice."

Cas ignored her. He slid the whiskey bottle across the table from one hand to the other, watching it’s journey with wistful little smile.

Anya looked from the god-king to the angel. Illyria was, of course, ever a ray of anti-sunshine. It was sweet of Cas to promise to find her in Hell, and that little smile of his was rather adorable. But he was also being kind of morbid and creepy. Anya imagined what she looked like to them, slumped in her chair, face contorted in worry over thoughts of Hell.

"My god! We’ve become sad, maudlin drunks!"

This was exactly the opposite of how Anya wanted to spend her remaining time. They needed distraction. She glanced around the room, and had an idea.

"That’s a motel TV, right? Let’s watch some porn."

Five minutes later they were gathered around the TV set. Anya was lying on the bed, propping her chin up on her hands; Castiel sat on the edge of the bed next to her, leaning forward intently; and Illyria sat on the ground.

"Humans are grotesque," Illyria commented.

"You just say that because you don’t like humans," Castiel replied dismissively. “Copulation is a beautiful…" He squinted at what was going on on screen. "… act."

Anya thought watching porn would be ridiculous and entertaining, but both Cas and Illyria seemed to take it very seriously. She finished another whiskey and set the empty glass on the floor, feeling some of her happy buzz returning. Cas was watching TV with such intense concentration that you’d think he was going to be tested later. It was kind of cute, which, Anya thought a little incoherently, it was easy for the angel to be, since he was, really, kind of cute.

Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand why a nurse would be allowed to do something to a patient that’s not part of medical proceedure."

"Once again, love is interfering in the work of a healer," Illyria observed with a wise tone. “Humans should require them to be celibate."

Anya sniggered. “This is a fantasy, Cas. Not an instruction manual."

Cas glanced at Anya. “Oh." He straightened his posture and assumed a more non-chalant air. “I knew that."

"It’s just not realistic," Anya explained, gesturing towards the screen. “I mean, look at that! No one can do that without a thirteen-inch penis. And, don’t get me wrong, I like penis as much as anyone else. But thirteen inches? That’s just too much penis!"

Anya missed sex a lot.

"It is kind of hot, though."

 

* * *

 

"Cas, I think you and me should have sex."

Castiel tore his attention away from the TV to look at Anya.

"I mean, we’re going to Hell, you’re an attactrive virgin, I’m an attractive not-virgin… we might as well have fun!"

Castiel considered Anya’s proposition with utmost seriousness. He liked her, and wanted to enjoy the time they had together as much as possible under the circumstances. From their conversations, he knew exactly what significance sex had for her, that it wouldn’t mean anything more or less than he thought it did. The alcohol made feel confident, and also curious. And, what Anya was saying made sense.

She continued, “When you think about it, it’s the only reasonable thing to do!"

Cas nodded. “I agree."

He got to his feet and stood by the side of the bed.

"How should we start?"

 

* * *

 

Illyria changed the TV channel, since she had no interest in observing human fornication, and it seemed that Anya and Castiel had grown tired of watching. Currently, they were taking their clothes off and making loud noises on the bed behind her. Illyria wished they wouldn’t, since she wanted to use the “magic fingers" again. She found a program discussing the benefits of certain kitchen appliances.

At the edge of her vision, a figure in white caught Illyria’s eye. She got up and followed it behind one of the store’s shelves.

It was Eve.

Illyria was suspicious. It had always been Death who arrived to take them from the holding cell to The Powers That Be. Now, Eve was there alone, and hiding from the others.

"You’ve not come to deliver your verdict," Illyria said, and it wasn’t a question.

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I disagree with the verdict." Eve approached Illyria and whispered in her ear, “I want to take you to my kingdom."

This did little to abate Illyria’s wariness. The fact that Eve dared come so close to her set Illyria on edge. Of course it made sense that Eve would want Illyria as a god, but there were other things that didn’t.

"Does your court not have rules that bind you?"

"It has rules," Eve smirked, “how binding they are is up for interpretation. It is a risk for me to come to you like this."

"And you are not afraid of me like the others?" This was a double-edged question. Illyria was curious why Eve was different from the rest of the tribunal. But a proper subject must also be afraid.

"No."

"You should be."

"If you accept my offer, I have conditions."

Illyria narrowed her eyes and studied the Mother. It was bold of her to presume to place conditions on Illyria. But she had the air of a ruler about her, the mannerism of great age and power. Her boldness was more intriguing than an affront.

"No war." Eve stipulated, “No conquest. Nothing to call the wrath of Heaven or Hell on our heads."

She was asking for Illyria to exist without those things which made her great.

"Then why do you want me?"

A smile spread across Eve’s face and light danced in her eyes. “Why do I want the great Illyria, Shaper of Things?" She spoke excitedly, but quietly, so as not to draw the attention of the angel or demon, however unlikely they were to be distracted. “Together we can build Purgatory into something worth ruling. You would be a different kind of god. No conflict, just creation."

"I would be worshipped?"

"Not by me." Eve coyly raised an eyebrow. “Not in the way you’re thinking anyways."

Eve wanted Illyria to join her as an equal. This was different, but not as offensive as Illyria might have once thought it. She had felt some level of comraderie with Wesley and his friends, and some kinship with Castiel and Anya. It was not unpleasant, and something she’d like more of. But they had let her down, by dying, or otherwise demonstrating their weakness. Illyia sensed that Eve would not disappoint her.

She would accept. She wanted to accept. But something was holding her back, a sense of panic rising in her. “No," Illyria said, against her will, the fear of going to this new dimension becoming uncontrollable.

Eve back away, regarding her warily.

"NO!" Fred cried, as commercials blared from the TV.

Fred started, eyeing her surroundings with confusion, before focusing on Eve.

"I’m not going back anywhere like that."

Eve gave her a comforting smile that was entirely ineffective.

"You have nothing to fear. You’re not going as a slave, but as a queen."

"Please just let me go," Fred pleaded.

"Fred, what do you think Purgatory is?" Eve asked, her voice low and soothing.

Fred didn’t answer, maintaining her fearful and distrustful attitude.

Eve explained, “From its creation, Purgatory has been a prison made of stone and ash, built to house what you call monsters when they die. Werewolves, vampires, things with horns and claws. You’ve known a few of my children. But it was never meant to be a place of punishment. I want to create something more for them."

Fred remained sceptical. “With Illyria?"

"Yes," Eve nodded. “But you’re a creator too, are you not? An inventor? We could find a role for you as well."

Illyria returned.

"You’ve calmed the human enough for me to control her," she said, trying to conceal her relief.

"I meant what I told her," Eve said firmly.

Illyria knew she would never be rid of the human soul. But perhaps there was a way to deal with it other than this inner struggle. “I understand."

"Then what do you have to say to my offer?"

A new existence. A new kind of god from what she once was. “It is acceptable."

Eve held out her hand.

"Then come."

 

* * *

 

It was awkward at first. It wasn’t that Castiel didn’t know what to do, he had witnessed sex countless times, but there were too many things he could do. Anya knew what she wanted, though, and that made things easier. She kissed him and he kissed her back, and it was pleasant, and she said he was good at it, which made Castiel happy.

Then they took their clothes off and things became both easier still and more difficult. Easier because there was a building momentum and trajectory that Cas could go with, and more difficult because though Castiel was familiar with the mechanics of sexual intercourse, he was not prepared for how it  _felt_.

At first, Castiel would freeze every time Anya did something that sent a jolt of pleasure rocketing through his body, so unfamiliar and unexpected that he was unsure what it meant or how he should react. And Anya kept doing whatever it was - sucking on his neck, or raking her nails over his thighs or stoking him - until he was back to his senses and eager to make her feel what he did. Later, when he slid inside her, the sensation hit him like a wave, and Castiel felt he inhabited his body more fully than he ever had before - ironically, it being only the metaphysical figment of a body. They started moving together, and the pleasure built. And it kept building. It didn’t stop. Anya shouted his name and came around him, her fingers digging into his hips, pulling him deeper, and it was too much, it had to stop. Castiel locked up.

"Don’t stop now, Cas," Anya whispered to him.

"I can’t," he said between gulps of air. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I…"

Anya opened her eyes, to see Castiel trembling and gritting his teeth. “Cas, what’s wrong?"

He met her gaze, wide-eyed. “I… I’m breaking apart," he said, a note of panic in his voice. “It’s too much, I’m sorry, I can’t…"

Anya’s look of concern was replaced by a soft smile. She slid her legs off Castiel’s shoulders and slipped off of him, leaving him with a painful sense of need. She kissed him softly, told him, “It’s okay."

Anya manouvered them so that Cas was on his back, and she was lying on top of him. Then Castiel was insider her again, and Anya was moving  _very_  slowly, kissing his neck, and whispering in his ear, “Relax. Let go." And he trusted her, so he did.

 

* * *

 

Anya realized that the TV was still on, but no one was watching it. She groped for the remote control on the floor, found it, and turned the TV off.

Anya felt good. She was dead, but she felt good. Awash in alcohol and endorphins, she could nearly forget everything else, and enjoy the moment.  _We won_ , she reminded herself, just once, for good measure.

She looked over at Cas, who was still catching his breath, a dazed expression on his face.

"Are you feeling amazing right now too?" Anya asked. Not that she had to.

Cas nodded. “It was… more intense than I had anticipated."

Anya grinned. “Yeah, I got that."

"It must be… so wonderful to share with the person you love." Cas had that far-away look again.

"It can be," Anya said, trying desperately not to think of Xander, not wanting to lose the after-sex high.  _We won_ , she told herself. But it wasn’t enough, because there wasn’t any “we" any more. She was dead, and would probably never see her friends again, because she was probably going to Hell.  _Dammit, I was doing so well_.

"There’s someone that you love?" Anya asked, hoping that Cas would talk about himself so that she’d have something else to think about. But he just quirked a sad smile and nodded. She pushed a little harder. “Sam or Dean?"

"What?" Cas blinked at her, taken aback.

"It’s one of the brothers you were talking about, right?" She thought back through the details of the story. “I’m guessing Dean."

Cas blushed and nodded, avoiding her gaze.

"Sorry I wasn’t him," Anya said.

Cas turned to her intently. “No… You’re my friend, and I’m glad we had this before…" he let the sentence trail off, and instead of finishing it, just looked Anya in the eye with almost too much sincerity. “Thank you."

_At least I’ll have one friend in Hell._

"Thank you too." Anya rested her head on the pillow. For motel-quality , it felt very welcoming. “You’re a good guy, Cas."

"You haven’t known me that long."

"No, you are." Anya’s eyelids felt heavy. She closed them, just for a second. “And if I can, I’ll break out of line, and I’ll find you."

"And then what?"

Anya was asleep.

 

* * *

 

Castiel got dressed while deciding whether he should wake Anya or not. She wouldn’t want to spend what little time they had left sleeping. But maybe he’d let her rest for a few minutes, at least.

He had a friend. While alive, Castiel had lost every friend he had, whether to the Apocalypse, the war, or his own foolishness. But now, in death, at the gates of Hell, he’d made a friend. Knowing that, he felt he could meet his fate with at least a small amount of peace.

There was a flicker of movement in the store’s loft. Someone was there. Castiel assumed it was Illyria, but as he looked around the holding cell, he realized that all the features of her temple had vanished.

He climbed up the stairs to investigate, and came face-to-face with his father.

"Hi," God said.

Castiel nodded in greeting and cast his eyes down.

"I wanted to see you before the decision."

He nodded again.

"You can look at me, it’s okay."

Castiel raised his face to his Father and all the shame and regret came flooding back to him, until he felt like he couldn’t contain it. “I’m sorry."

"I know," God said kindly, but Cas wanted to keep apologizing anyways. He kept himself silent. “Look, I just wanted to make sure that you’re clear: you’re not here because you fell in love. Love changed you, it didn’t break you."

Castiel forced himself to look his Father in the eye, it was important that he knew he understood. “It was my choices. And I’m so sorry-"

"Hey, I forgive you."

Castiel blinked, not believing his ears. “You do?"

"I know why you did it," God explained. “I mean, you were  _wrong_ , but you had a lot to deal with. Everyone makes mistakes. Hell, I had the flood!"

If it wasn’t for the fact that angels don’t sleep, Castiel would have thought he was dreaming.

God continued, " _And_  you understand why you were wrong. So yeah, I forgive you."

It was true. His father forgave him. Castiel took a deep, shuddering breath, and pressed his eyes shut against the building tears. He had his Father’s forgiveness. It was all he could have hoped for.

God was watching Cas carefully. “You realize that how I feel doesn’t matter as long as Crowley and Eve agree, right?"

"I know," but Castiel smiled anyways.

"And neither of them were willing to change their decision."

"You tried?" Castiel asked, disbelieving that after all he had done, he was still worth the effort. He grabbed the railing around the loft, and slowly sat on the floor.

"Yeah," God shrugged and sat next to Cas. “I mean, you rebelled against Heaven, you fell in love with a human," he said, smiling proudly at Castiel. “You did the right thing when it really mattered. Don’t tell the other angels, but you kinda became my favourite." His smile faded. “That’s why I was so disappointed with how you fought your war."

Knowing that his Father cared made the knowledge that he disappointed him so much worse. “I’m sorry I let you down."

"Hey, remember when I said I forgive you?"

Cas nodded and smiled sheepishly. His Father forgave him, and loved him, and he had a friend. These were things that Castiel could hold on to in Hell to remember who he was. He rose to his feet, ready to accept his fate.

"Thank you for coming to see me. This means a lot."

God stood up, looking at Castiel somewhat askance. “Yeah, well, as I was saying, Crowley and Eve aren’t budging, so um…" he looked over his shoulder, as if making sure no one was there. “I’m gonna resurrect you now."

"What…?"  _This has to be a dream._

"Resurrect you. Bring you back to life? You should be used to this by now, Cas."

"But I… I don’t deserve…" Castiel pushed away thoughts of seeing Dean, fixing Sam, making everything right. He couldn’t let himself believe it.

"What were we just talking about?" God said impatiently. “Besides, Crowley’s being a bitch about this whole thing, and I’m not letting him get away with it."

Castiel had to smile at that.

"I’m giving you another chance, but once you’re back, it’s all up to you."

"I understand."

"Are you ready?"

Castiel nodded. He wondered if he’d be able to find a way to kill the Leviathans on his own, and then surprise the Winchesters when he revealed it was he… but no, that was his pride. Better to work together.

"Try not to blow up this time."

Cas smiled. He would go to the Winchesters, fix Sam, and they’d all work together. He would earn back their friendship…

God raised his hand to Castiel’s forehead.

"No, wait!"

God froze.

"Anya… I…"

"She’ll be fine, Cas."

"Really?"

"I promise."

Castiel trusted him.

"Would you tell her that I wish her well?"

God raised his hand again. “I will."

 

* * *

 

Anya was lying on something that was awfully hard for a bed. She opened her eyes and realized that it wasn’t a bed at all, but the study table from the Magic Box.

And Death was standing in the middle of the room.

"Gah!" Anya scrambled to cover herself with her hands, before noticing that she was fully clothed. She took a deep breath and tried to act casual. “Hi."

Death arched an eyebrow.

Anya looked around. There was no stonework, no tacky furnishings. It was just the Magic Box.

"Where’s Cas and Illyria?" she asked.

"They’ve already been dealt with," Death answered with great disinterest.

"Oh," Anya was sorry she hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Cas. She would try to find him again, but she wasn’t counting on that happening any time soon. Anya found she even missed Illyria a little. “What happened to them?" She was almost afraid to ask, but she wanted to know for sure.

"Let’s just say," Death sauntered towards Anya, “with the chuckle-heads known as The Powers That Be running the show, keeping the eternal balance is a full-time job."

He touched Anya on the shoulder, and she was back in the small claims court.

The bench was empty. She looked around the room, and saw Chuck lounging in the gallery.

"Hey," he waved casually.

"What’s going on? Where is everyone?" Anya asked, walking down the aisle towards him.

"Well, let’s see, um, Eve ran back to Purgatory with Illyria, and Crowley is pouting in Hell because I resurrected Castiel. So it’s just you and me."

Anya breathed a sigh of relief and dropped into the seat next to Chuck. “Thank god…"

"You’re welcome. For what?"

Anya blinked. She had to remember whom she was talking to here. “Cas. I’m glad you did that for him."

"Yeah, me too," Chuck said with a self-satisfied grin. “By the way, he wishes you well."

Anya smiled, thinking of her friend flying around, hanging out with Sam and Dean again. “Right back at him." Her smile faded. “Hey, aren’t you worried about Illyria?"

"Eh, a little," Chuck admitted. “Honestly, I was that close," he held his forefinger and thumb very close together, “to letting it happen anyways, so…" he shrugged “We’ll see what happens."

Anya nodded. It seemed like everybody was getting a happier-than-expected ending. Which actually didn’t make her less afraid to ask. But she had to.

"So, what happens to me now?"

"You have to ask?" Chuck looked at her incredulously. Anya held her breath. “You’re going through the Pearly Gates."

Anya exhaled and slumpped back in her seat, and started laughing.

Chuck was smiling too. “I mean, you offering your life for those frat-douches - that was penance right there. And fighting in the Battle of Sunnydale was icing on the cake."

Anya gawked at him. “You said I ‘killed a few Bringers’!"

Chuck furrowed his brow in thought. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Sorry about that," he said a bit too lightly to sound genuine.

Anya couldn’t believe it. God had been trolling her. “You psyched me out, you jerk!" she cried, and whacked him lightly on the arm.

Chuck’s expression became very serious. Anya quailed.

"I still get in to Heaven if I call God a jerk… right?"

A smile crept back up across Chuck’s face. “Only when it’s true."

Anya had never felt so relieved. It felt like she was slowly being filled with pure light, lifting her up. The courtroom seemed to be getting brighter too.

"So, where I’m going, I’ll see my friends?

"Eventually."

"Hey, if I’m in Heaven and Cas is an angel, he can visit, right?"

"I’ll tell him you’re expecting him."

"Good."

Smiling, Anya went with God.


End file.
